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DUST  OF  STARS 


DUST  OF  STARS 

BY  DANFORD  BARNEY 


"There  is  no  god,  but  we,  who  breathe  the  air^ 
Are  god  ourselves,  and  touch  god  everywhere t^ 


NEW  YORK:  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 
LONDON:  JOHN  LANE,  THE  BODLEY  HEAD 
MCMXVI 


copykight,  i916, 
By  John  Lane  Company 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Ives  Company 
New  York,  U.S.  A. 


TO    I.  M.  F. 


The  author  wishes  to  acknowledge 
pennission  to  reprint  certain  of 
these  poems  that  have  appeared  in 
the  "Yale  Literary  Magazine,"  and 
the  "International." 


PREFACE 

//  music  be  only  madness. 

Bred  of  a  fool's  dark  brain: 
If  ye  have  felt  no  sadness 

In  drops  of  the  Autumn's  rain: 
If  ye  believe  no  vjonder 

Sleeps  in  the  crimson  skies: 
Then,  let  us  tear  asunder 

The  flesh  of  our  mortal  eyes! 

Yet  we  must  feel,  alone. 

The  sky,  and  the  sea,  and  the  hills, 
Whose  parched  lips  seek  the  chalice 

Of  mystery  in  our  ivills/ 
We,  luho  have  never  waited 

To  glorify  only  the  end. 
May  gather  the  earth's  eternal 

To  live  and  to  transcend! 

Are  we  but  hucksters  of  pity. 

Crying  with  death  in  our  eyes? 
We  who  are  deaf  to  evil. 

And  boast  that  we  criticise? 
So,  we  have  made  fulfilment, 

"To  have  been  good,  and  died!" 
To  be  good  is  facile,  and  only 

The  martyrs  are  crucified! 

Some,  that  have  stood  in  wonder. 

Shattered  the  dead  soul's  bars, 
Have  heard  the  tongueless  choir 

Beyond  the  sleep  of  the  stars. 
They,  that  are  humble  in  beauty, 

Sustained  of  immortal  wine, 
Let  them  be  strong  in  common. 

One  with  the  superfine! 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

L.  J.  B 13 

A  Woman  Above  Naples 15 

The  First  Chantey 18 

Song  in  the  Meadow 21 

The  Fall  Piper 23 

"Love  and  Liberation" 25 

Holly-Bloom       .        . 29 

Shadows       . 30 

From  a  Train 32 

Song  o'  Gloucester 33 

The  Dream  Woman 35 

Forsaking 36 

The  Prophet 37 

Revenir 39 

Prayer 41 

Revery  of  Wind 42 

Irony 43 

Winter 44 

Adieu  ! 45 

To-morrow 46 

Spring  Prelude 47 

Ghosts 48 

Belief 49 

Te  Hodie  Meminisse! 50 

ix 


SONNETS 


PAGE 


Clay 57 

Inspiration 58 

Beauty 59 

Love 61 

Faith 63* 

Joy 64 

Tears 65 

Revelation .  66 


BY  THE  SEA 


The  Last  Chantey 69 

L'Importune 70 

A  Portrait 72 

Song 74 

The  Heart  of  a  Mansion 75 

Echoes 78 

Miserere 79 

The  Moon-Calf 81 

Twilight 82 

Day's  End 83 


DUST  OF  STARS 


L.  J.  B.  ...>.....     ' 

There  sprang  a  lily  in  eternal  light, 
Giving  its  sweetness  all  about : 
Like  to  a  flame,  in  a  rift  of  night, 
It  flickered  out. 

So  came  she  to  us,  as  a  flower. 
Fresh  as  a  bud  in  April's  rain, 
Only  to  play  in  her  brief  hour. 
And  fade  again. 

Did  she  but  smile,  it  flitted  on 
The  lips  of  others,  for  they  knew 

Her  heart  was  clear,  and,  like  the  sun, 
Warm,  and  as  true. 

And  the  Johnny- jump-ups  smiled 

Where,  by  the  garden  path,  they  grew. 
Watching  to  see  her,  but  the  child 
To  Eden  flew. 

Ah,  in  the  days  of  long  ago. 

Though  life  itself  had  been  the  cost, 
I  might  have  given  all  to  know 
All  that  I  lost. 

One  day  all  the  world  was  still 
And  dark — and  I  alone. 

No  one  had  spoken  of  God's  will. 
That  she  had  gone. 

*         *         * 

13 


Hark  to  the  summer  breeze  that  blows. 
It  lingers,  whispers  in  the  grass 
As  if — I  lay  awake,  perhaps 
To  hear  her  pass. 


14 


A  WOMAN  ABOVE  NAPLES 

Twilight  stole  upon  us  as  she  spoke 
Soft,  happy  words — calling  up  the  day 
On  which,  above  the  splendour,  she  awoke, 
Of  tinted  dusk,  across  th'  empurpled  bay. 
Beyond  her  words,  distinct  I  heard  the  sea, 
Crooning  its  southern  lullaby;  the  breeze 
Came  into  being,  sweeping  up  to  me, 
Whispered  and  vanished,  drifting  to  emerald  seas, 
I  saw  the  dream-clad  vista,  as  she  spoke. 
The  waning  glory  from  the  lofty  site. 
And,  with  her  spirit  memory,  awoke 
Before  the  floodgates  of  the  infinite. 
"Now  and  again,  the  heart  beats,  little  lad, 
"Against  the  portals  of  our  errant  past. 
"Softly,  we  step,  half-happy,  halfway  sad, 
"Within  the  doors.    Our  senses  shut  tiiem  fast 
"Upon  the  present,  till  we  glean  awhile 
"The  pleasures  of  far  ancient  journeyings, 
"Made  beautiful  in  Youth — or  wanly  smile 
"To  hear  the  ghost-songs  that  the  memory  sings. 
"Ah,  can  you  know,  dear  lad,  that  as  we  go 
"Beneath  the  shadow  years,  how  happily 
"We  feed  the  still  warm  heart,  if  but  to  know 
"That  glories  of  our  past  could  really  be. 
"So  was  it  that  I  woke  one  afternoon, 
"Dearly  refreshed,  upon  the  lone  grey  hill, 
"As  the  heart-beat  seemed  happily  in  tune 
"With  the  earth's  fugue — all  silently  and  still, 
"Down  and  away,  the  vineyard  hillside  swept 
"To  the  dim  line  of  Naples'  housetops  where 
15 


"Above  the  shadow  streets  the  grey  wreaths  slept, 
''Of  smoke  that  drifted  idly  on  the  air, 
"Little  wreaths,  so  weakly  to  compare 
"With  the  far  billowed  mass  of  glooming  cloud 
"Above  Vesuvius.    Again  the  flare 
"Of  lava  fire  threading  the  rifted  shroud, 
"And  all  so  far  that  Vulcan's  tempest  failed 
"To  touch  the  silence.    Yet  without  a  sound 
"All  life  seemed  vibrant.    One  lone  vessel  sailed 
"Away  to  sea,  between  the  twin  isles  bound 
"Out  to  eternity.    Whence,  to  my  wondering  eyes, 
"A  greater  beauty,  treasured  from  the  store 
"Of  God's  great  masterpieces,  set  the  skies 
"With  myriad  colours — to  the  blue-lined  shore 
"A  pathway  led  of  shimmering  lambent  gold, 
"Leading  beneath  the  rainbow  arch  at  rest 
"Upon  the  darkling  isles — as  legends  told 
"That  rainbows  end  in  islands  of  the  blest. 
"The  shifting  clouds  drew  quietly  apart 
"One  brief,  calm  instant,  wonderfully  bright, 
"To  hold  bewitched  all  nature's  thirsting  heart, 
"To  drench  the  soul  in  opalescent  light. 
"Speechless !    I  watch,  until  the  red  sun  dies 
"Beyond  the  water.    Lights  around  the  bay 
"Open  a  peep,  like  tiny  elfin  eyes, 
"Stealing  forth  as  twilight  cloaks  the  day ! 
"Or — ^mayhap,  fallen  stars  from  out  the  skies, 
"Still  burning,  as  their  beams  reach  up  to  me ! 
"Again,  they  are  processioned  fireflies, 
"Marching  beside  a  listless,  weaving  sea !" 
The  story  ends.    The  fire  flickers  low. 
As  shadows  startle,  restless  on  the  wall, 
i6 


Behind  the  dark  bench.    Even  the  pictures  grow 
Dreamful  in  distance.    Every  object  falls 
Away  to  nothingness.    And,  heart  to  heart, 
We  sit  together  on  the  vine-clad  height, 
As  southern  vespers  chant  our  counterpart, 
Breaking  the  flood-gates  of  the  Infinite ! 


17 


THE  FIRST  CHANTEY 

Straight  as  a  lily  wand  she  stood,  or  a  rose  stalk,  bowed  to 

the  breath  of  morning. 
Light  in  her  eyes  gleamed  strange,  or  fled  to  the  shadow  of 

God's  far  sacred  vale. 
Oh,  for  the  youth,  transfixed  in  glory,  to  drive  the  clouds 

from  the  face  of  dawning ! 
You,  Francesca,  came  in  your  spirit,  stronger  than  arms  of 

a  North-sea  gale. 

Down  by  the  harbour-road  we  met,  where  the  light  of  the 

grey  sea  broke  the  gloaming. 
Down  from  the  wind-swept  hills  of  faith,  out  of  the  mist 

you  came  to  me, 
Simply  and  true,  as  a  child  of  Holland,  beauty  that  sets  the 

heart  to  roaming 
Over  the  haunted  fields  of  wonder,  asking  if  this  be  fantasy. 

The  fragrance  of  your  song  was  soft,  broken  now  in  the  sud- 
den laughter. 

Sweeter  than  light  that  breaks  in  glory,  a  silver  rift  in  the 
clouds  of  night. 

Still,  as  your  words  might  cease,  the  air  was  tense  in  the 
silence,  coming  after. 

Just  as  the  soul  drifts  blind  in  bondage,  terrified  in  its  sheer 
delight. 

Disarming  all  hypocrisy,  unashamed  in  the  sweet  disorder 
Of  your  dress,  and  the  shadows  of  gold  and  darkening  hair 

adrift  to  the  breeze, 
i8 


Wanton  you  came  in  the  eyes  of  youth,  that  dauntless  runs 
to  the  farthest  border 

Of  hope  that,  in  its  truth,  transcends  our  commonplace  reali- 
ties. 

Ah,  Francesca,  as  you  came  did  you  dream  of  the  gold 

dawn's  breaking 
Over  the  sea  of  stranger  faces  that  fleck  the  past  as  with 

half-wan  stars  ? 
Yours  has  been  the  faith  of  ages,  hunted  through  pain  of 

the  world's  dark  making. 
You  have  flung  wide  the  silent  casement,  broken  the  wisps 

of  its  shadow-bars ! 

How  the  mind  drifts  back  upon  your  words  that  faded  in 

chaos,  surging 
Against  the  shadowed  rocks  as  the  spin-drift  surf  swept  wild 

on  the  naked  dune : 
Your  song  has  softly  drawn  the  chords  of  wonder  taut  with 

rhythm,  merging 
Silently  in  dreams  that  keep  the  majesty  of  the  world  in 

tune. 

Out  of  the  hireling  millions,  standing  alone  in  your  song 
of  heaven's  daring. 

You  have  reached  to  the  uttermost  bounds  of  light  to  garner 
our  richest  needs. 

Yours  is  to  pity  the  dying  souls  who  plod  across  their  pin- 
folds, staring 

Into  the  mystery  of  night,  dreaming  they,  too,  may  live  their 
creeds. 

19 


Your  heart  dissects  the  baser  lures  that  puppets  crave  in  the 

moment's  fleetness. 
What  if  the  stern-faced  prophets  doubt  in  their  narrowed 

hearts?    Why  must  we  care, 
If  we  have  met  in  the  kingdom  of  winds,  suffered  and  found 

life's  dearer  sweetness, 
Bred  in  the  courage  of  unmasked  wonder  to  sacrifice  unto 

men,  and  dare? 

If  we  have  fled  to  the  hill's  far  rim,  breathing  the  warmth  of 

a  new  sun's  rising. 
Have  we  to  turn  again  to  the  valley  of  shadow  where  jesters 

fawned  and  cried? 
Yours  is  the  faith  of  coming  dawn,  setting  to  shame  the 

world's  despising. 
Watch  their  quavering  lips.     'Tis  yours  to  know,  as  they 

know  in  their  hearts,  they  lied! 


20 


SONG  IN  THE  MEADOW 

Francesca,  dost  thou  watch  me  now, 
Here  in  the  meadow  ^     Long  ago 

It  was  I  had  thee  in  my  arms. 
Dost  thou  remember  all  we  dreamed 
Of  love  and  wonder,  how  life  seemed 

A  treasury  of  all  thy  charms, 
Francesca,  long  ago*? 

And,  oh,  the  halo  in  thy  hair ! 

The  sweet  curve  of  thy  shoulder  bare 

I  would  have  kissed  in  Paradise  I 
Only  to  dream  upon  thy  breast. 
As  floating  among  clouds,  at  rest, 

Mad  with  the  heaven  in  thine  eyes, 
Francesca — long  ago ! 

Dost  thou  watch  me  as  I  lie. 
Thinking  me  dead,  beneath  the  sky. 

Cool  in  the  meadow  grass  by  night*? 
Prone,  with  my  hands  beneath  my  head. 
The  villagers  have  thought  me  dead. 

Because  I  slept  in  fields  by  night. 

I  saw  a  golden  ship  arise 
Against  the  crimson  of  the  skies. 

Beyond  the  outer  gilded  strand. 
And,  oh,  the  light  upon  the  oars 
Flashed,  in  its  glory,  to  the  shores 

Of  Twilight,  in  far  sunset  land. 

21 


So  the  ship  vanished  on  the  sea, 
Bearing  thy  soul  afar  from  me, 

Francesca,  and  I  knew  not  where. 
Yet  sweet  the  wind  sang  in  the  spars 
A  song  re-echoed  to  the  stars 

That  glitter  through  the  twilight  air. 

Ah,  love,  dost  wonder  that  I  lie. 
With  face  unto  the  arching  sky, 

Since  thy  soul  broke  its  fretted  bars? 
Ah,  wondering,  how  might  I  tell 
The  mystery  of  worlds?    'Tis  well 

I  dreamed  thou  wert  among  the  stars, 
Francesca — long  ago ! 


22 


THE  FALL  PIPER 

Along  the  way  wild  children  fled. 

Against  their  radiant  faces  blew 
The  shattered  leaves,  dust-stained  and  sere, 

Like  empty  dreams,  untrue  or  dead, 
Bright,  wind-blown  ghosts  that  elfins  strew 

Along  the  path  of  the  failing  year. 
Lips  parted  in  their  cry  of  cheer 

As,  over  the  distance  borne,  was  heard 

Sweet  carols  of  the  mountain  bird. 

Their  wind-swept  eyes,  alight  with  tears, 
(Jewels  of  witches,  legends  say.) 

Over  the  fields  they  ran  and  spied, 

Where  'neath  the  slope  a  gnarled  oak  rears 

Grey  limbs,  an  elf  all  robed  in  grey. 
Under  the  shadowed  mountain  side. 

On  each  fair  day  of  Indian-tide, 
All  gathered  there  to  hear  him  sing 
Strange  lyrics  of  forgotten  Spring. 

White  fingers  touch  the  trembling  lips. 

In  vagrancy,  his  smiling  eyes 
Are  kindled  with  mesmeric  light. 

So,  into  dusk  the  memory  slips. 
(Gay,  plum'd  birds  chant  vagaries 

Of  fancied  fields  and  valleys  bright.) 
Thus  children  dream  in  dear  delight. 

Until  their  meadow  sleeps  in  flowers. 

And  stand  bewitched  the  creeping  hours. 
23 


And  spellbound,  in  the  fairy  ring, 
Children  of  the  byways  listen 

To  bird-like  song,  each  trill  and  note, 
Clasping  the  whitened  hands  that  cling 

About  their  knees.     His  wild  eyes  glisten 
Above  the  sun-brown  of  the  throat. 

The  quivering  lips.     In  magic,  float 
His  wonder-songs,  to  banish  care 
Upon  the  haunted,  autumn  air ! 


24 


'LOVE  AND  LIBERATION" 

Thou  askt  in  wonder 
Why  that  I  sing, 
If  but  to  tell 
A  sad,  sweet  thing. 

Thou  hast  the  world, 
And  love,  and  men, 
I  but  a  song 
And  death:   what  then*? 

Aye,  there  is  gold. 
But  may  gold  buy 
Friendship  or  honour, 
Reality? 

I  followed  thee 
Out  and  away, 
Brushing  the  clouds 
From  the  face  of  day, 

Through  cacophonies 
And  tears, 
Hoping  in  thee 
For  after  years. 

But  thou  hast  failed 
To  understand. 
And  I,  a  stranger, 
Dropped  the  hand 
25 


That  led  to  God, 
Following  thee. 
Must  I  not  sing 
Eternally? 

Thou  standest  mute, 
Thy  heart  in  night. 
To  heal  the  soul 
In  a  rift  of  light. 

Friendless,  alone, 
Thou  bidst  me  smile, 
Denying  me  all. 
Knowing  the  while 

How  thou  mightst  break 
The  bonds  that  tie, 
And  cast  the  weight 
From  ecstasy. 

Others  gave  me 
My  birth,  my  place, 
To  have  a  heart. 
Crises  to  face. 

Surely  our  God 
Did  not  decree 
That  I  should  sing 
Apart  from  thee. 

Because  I  tread. 
With  feet  unbound 
26 


By  fetters,  on 
The  sacred  ground 

Of  my  dear  idol, 
E'en  of  thee, 
Partisan  in 
My  symphony, 

I  may  not  smile 
That  I  am  here. 
Merely  to  know- 
That  thou  art  near. 

I  built  me  castles 

In  the  air. 

But  they  have  crumbled, 

Falling  there. 

When  in  their  glory 
Thou  wouldst  laugh. 
Sweeping  them  far 
As  wind  the  chaff. 

There  is  a  bird 
In  a  gilded  cage, 
A  travesty 
On  his  small  stage. 

Does  he  not  sing? 
But,  to  translate. 
His  notes  tell  not 
Of  love,  but  hate; 
27 


He  has  our  all, 
All  that  men  give, 
Only  to  sing 
In  pain,  and  live. 

Is  there  not  sorrow 
Beyond  retrieve, 
In  giving  all, 
Nought  to  receive ! 

Ah,  there  is  beauty 
In  the  fire 
Of  his  sweet  song, 
The  deep  desire 

To  be  away. 
Up  heavenward, 
Over  the  lovers 
On  the  sward. 

So  would  I  seek 
From  earthly  gold, 
Splendour  beyond. 
Fortunes  untold. 

I  would  away 
At  liberty 
Into  the  dusk — 
Aye,  e'en  with  thee. 


28 


HOLLY-BLOOM 

Holly-Bloom  of  the  winter's  coming: 
Hope  in  the  grey  earth's  wind-lament: 
Blood  of  youth  against  time's  running: 
Moons  have  waned,  and  the  year  is  spent. 

Old  embers  of  a  dream 

Upon  new  hopes  that  witchery  denies 

To  consummate  in  truth !     Songs  of  the  dead 

Revery  in  which  we  lived  alone, 

Too  sacred  for  the  ears  of  aught  but  thee ! 

Of  thy  sweet  lips,  the  treasured  words  that  fled 

As  vespers  down  the  wind,  half-silent,  gone  I 

A  crock  of  opal  broken  on  the  sea. 

Where  drift  the  shattered  fires  of  the  skies, 

And  heaven's  discovered  gleam ! 

Ah,  joy  that,  coming  after 

The  stricken  silence,  wakens  the  dawn  of  years 

From  that  dark  hour,  when  red  petals  slept 

Upon  the  roses  of  our  Arcady ! 

Since  then,  thine  eyes  have  followed  in  the  dark; 

Thy  feet  ran  down  the  torrent  gale,  or  crept 

Beside  me  in  a  shadowed  fantasy ; 

And  now  we  meet.     What  though  the  hills  be  stark 

With  their  lost  vesture,  all  thy  wind-blown  tears 

Are  tremulous  in  laughter ! 

Holly-Bloom  of  the  winter's  coming: 
Hope  in  the  grey  earth's  wind-lament: 
Blood  of  youth  against  time's  running: 
Moons  shall  rise,  though  a  year  be  spent ! 
29 


SHADOWS 

I  knew  the  utter  gladness  of  that  hour, 
When  you  came  forth  incarnate  and  a  dream 
Of  some  unfolded  flower, 
Newly  awakened  in  its  sentient  gleam 
Of  too  sweet  inspiration.     Memory  yet 
Keeps  the  old  wound  awake  in  silent  pain. 
The  shadow  of  your  beauty  lingers  there. 
Haunting  the  lilacs,  scented  with  regret. 
And  the  warm  fragrance  of  your  fallen  hair, 
Hallowed  in  the  sweetness  of  new  rain. 

I  caught  you  out  of  the  earth's  commonplace. 
Beneath  the  whispering  pine  and  starling's  song. 
Your  dearly  vivid  face, 

Outlined  in  broken  sunlight,  spoke  the  wrong 
Our  hearts  commit  against  the  dream  of  years. 
How  might  one  pray  for  you  to  understand 
The  fearful  beauty  of  our  silent  prayer ! 
Ah,  had  I  kissed  and  hurt  you  in  your  tears. 
When  the  heart's  strings  were  tense,  yet  unaware 
That  God  might  ever  have  withheld  his  hand ! 

The  flame  of  day  had  seared  and  left  undone 

The  grey  defences  of  our  sacred  love 

To  thoughts  that  one  by  one 

Crept  to  the  threshold  of  the  heart,  and  strove 

Dumb  in  supplication.     Why  confess 

Our  lost,  dead  prayer,  begot  of  Paradise ! 

You  were  the  world's  one  flower  to  unfold 

The  perfect  sense  of  utter  holiness, 

30 


Beyond  the  gift  of  our  weak  lips  to  mould 
The  tremulous  dream  of  hope  behind  your  eyes. 

Now  must  we  hang  suspended  in  a  breath, 
Forbidden  to  give  our  beauty's  ultimate 
In  any  form  but  death 
That  is  the  image  of  God's  consummate. 
Still,  in  the  twilight  of  our  happiness, 
Kind  darkness  cools  the  memories  unkind. 
Beyond  the  old  pine  hangs  the  summer  moon. 
Withdrawn  in  fear  from  this  dark  loneliness, 
Sailing  adrift  as  some  red  toy  balloon. 
Forgetful  of  the  child  it  left  behind. 

Only  the  dim  whirr  of  the  bat's  dark  sweep 
Crosses  the  littany  of  stars  above 
The  brook,  where  willows  weep, 
Hidden  in  slumber  of  unspoken  love. 
The  wind  still  soughs  among  warm  trees  to-night, 
Slowing  the  pulse  from  the  blind  soul's  duress. 
Some  haunting  glamour  of  your  face,  alone. 
Startles  the  poignant  sense  of  old  delight. 
The  starling,  waking  life's  soft  undertone. 
Resolves  the  pain  of  earth's  unconsciousness. 


31 


FROM  A  TRAIN 

The  reek  of  smoke ;  cacophony  of  cars, 
And  the  blind  chaos  which  the  heart  confounds. 
Beings  seem  cloudy  things ;  fumes  of  cigars 
Fall  numbing  on  the  sense.     The  riot  sounds, 
In  their  own  being,  sweep  the  mind  away 
To  fields  beyond,  in  flowers  glorified. 
Frail  outlines  of  old  trees,  gnarled  and  grey, 
Just  past  as  ghosts,  fading  and  terrified. 
Far  out  beyond  the  darkling  earth,  the  sky 
Is  gone  from  sight.     A  crimson  bit  of  cloud 
Touched  it  with  colour,  but  all  light  must  die. 
Only  the  night,  the  rain,  and  the  black  shroud ! 
Not  that  the  day  is  done,  that  we  should  care, 
Only — beyond  the  darkness,  far  behind 
The  path  we  fled  across,  that  you  are  there. 
Rain  on  the  purple  panes,  like  tears  that  blind 
A  heart  bereft  of  happinesses  past ! 
And  it  is  always  hard  to  build  a  dream, 
Misunderstood,  perhaps,  and  not  to  last; 
Perhaps  to  fade.     Ah,  may  you  watch  the  gleam 
Across  the  centuries  of  crowded  hours ! 
The  bitterness  is  not  the  smile  that  dies, 
But  to  have  built  a  shrine  of  silent  hours, 
To  know  that  faith  is  lost  in  fantasies ! 


32 


SONG  O'  GLOUCESTER 

The  ships  come  in  all  laden,  lass, 

To  Gloucester  by  the  sea ; 
From  all  the  marts,  great  ships  that  pass, 

By  night,  upon  the  sea. 

The  cargoes  of  an  hundred  shores 

Come  swift  across  the  sea; 
Strange  ships  that  bear  a  thousand  stores 

To  Gloucester  by  the  sea. 

Treasures  of  the  orient 

Are  borne  upon  the  sea; 
Grey  ships  of  fortune,  old  prows  bent 

Toward  Gloucester  by  the  sea. 

Yet,  would  ye  sell  for  treasure 

The  wind-songs  of  the  sea*? 
Can  ye  seek  to  measure 

Dreams  of  eternity? 

Would  ye  sell  a  friendship 

For  cargoes  out  of  Ind*? 
Can  ye  buy  with  trinkets 

The  whisper  of  the  wind*? 
Would  ye  take  a  fortune — for 

The  whisper  of  the  wind? 

Ne'er  forget  the  dawn-songs, 
The  great  house  on  the  Hill, 

The  home  of  gloried  brotherhood. 
The  winds  that  whisper  still ! 

33 


Can  ye  gain,  for  bargaining, 
The  nodding  plenilune? 

Would  ye  give  your  brotherhood 
For  a  truxster's  boon? 

A  spirit  sings  upon  the  Hill, 

Of  hospitality. 
Would  ye  sell  a  friendship,  found 

In  Gloucester  by  the  sea ! 


34 


THE  DREAM  WOMAN 

She  is  singing, 

Wine  of  bitter-sweet  is  bringing 

In  its  chalice  ever-dwelling 

Of  her  heart. 

Bits  o'  dream-stuff  she  is  selling, 

Web  and  woof  in  colours  changing, 

Through  the  lights  and  shadows  ranging, 

Of  life's  mart. 

Dreamland  fashion, 
Ah,  her  words  touch  deeper  passion 
Than  the  lilt  of  mere  dream-chords. 
Through  love's  fire. 
Telling  all  that  life  affords. 
Comes  the  voice  in  still  refrain. 
Hiding  in  laughter,  and  e'en  the  pain 
Of  sweet  desire. 


35 


FORSAKING 

I  set  mc  forth  on  the  broad  highway 
That  dips  to  the  westering  sun, 

Down  the  grey  road  of  the  mist,  and  away 
To  a  shore  where  the  great  tides  run. 

"O,  sweet,  till  ye  come  back,"  she  sang, 

"Till  ye  return,  how  long?" 
"Beloved,  I  come  no  more,"  I  sang 

My  last  love,  even-song. 

I  saw  her  form  on  the  rim  o'  the  earth. 

Black  'gainst  the  eastern  sky. 
I  wept  a  bit  o'er  the  days  o'  mirth. 

Dreaming  of  days  gone  by. 

Watching  the  silver  fringe  of  the  sea. 
That  ran  on  the  golden  sand, 

I  wandered  the  shores  of  Brittany, 
Far  from  her  hallowed  land. 

When,  out  on  the  rim  o'  the  earth,  I  caught 
Sight  of  a  sail,  a  ship  on  the  sea. 

Soft  and  still,  as  in  pity  wrought, 
Drifted  a  song  of  love  to  me. 

"Ah,  sweet,  till  ye  return,"  it  cried, 
"Till  ye  come  back,  how  long? 

Come  but  to  smile  on  the  crucified, 
Soul  of  my  even-song!" 


36 


THE  PROPHET 

Within  the  wilderness  of  winds  he  dreamed 

Even  as  prophets,  long  and  long  ago. 

The  cry  of  multitudes  smote  on  his  soul 

With  dissonance — so  from  their  pain  he  caught 

The  glory  of  defiance.     This  he  wrought 

Into  his  vision,  wondered  that  it  seemed 

Even  as  life,  because  it  was  not  so, 

But  years  had  marred  the  image  of  their  goal. 

The  broken  hopes  of  ages  gathered  he. 
Out  of  the  dawn  he  built  his  firmament 
With  stars  of  diamond,  weaving  the  light  thread 
Of  tinted  clouds  into  the  picture  rare. 
Songs  of  romance  filled  the  trembling  air. 
Perfumed  with  flowers  of  olden  Arcady. 
The  blood  of  saints  he  took  for  sacrament, 
Spirits  of  glory  old,  long  aeans  fled. 

Then  far  upon  the  wander-winds  he  hurled 

His  new-born  creed,  woven  in  revery 

Of  sacred  hours,  spun  of  paradise ; 

Till  jesters  came  who  mocked  the  tale  he  told. 

Unknowing  that  he  wrought  his  work  in  gold. 

These  taught,  by  rule,  the  puppets  of  the  world. 

Breaking  the  souls  of  men  with  witchery 

Of  strange  mirage,  blinding  the  dreamer's  eyes. 

And  now  amid  our  prayers,  the  after-song 
Of  mummers  who  in  worship  follow  after. 
Casting  their  tears  in  byways  where  he  trod ! 
37 


Our  sword  of  truth  was  rust  'ere  it  drew  blood 
Of  its  own  purpose.     Dreams  misunderstood 
Break  stronger  hearts  than  those  of  men  who  throng, 
Wild,  sorrow-mad,  to  mourn  the  death  of  laughter 
That  died  with  him,  playfellow  of  his  God. 


38 


REVENIR 

I  had  a  friend. 

Ay,  such  a  friend  as  might 

Have  bridged  the  trivialities  of  life 

With  bonds  of  manhood,  valour,  truth,  and  love. 

He  set  my  humble  friendship  all  above, 

With  promise  of  a  path  with  pleasures  rife. 

To  keep  me  near 

His  heart.     Ah,  that  was  long  ago, 

I  deaf,  and  did  not  hear. 

And  so 

He  vanished  in  the  night. 

I  had  a  friend. 

Long  after,  many  a  day 

It  was  when  he  returned,  work-worn,  and  tired. 

From  furrowed  fields  where  strange-eyed  passers-by. 

Princes  and  paupers,  faces  to  the  sky, 

Lived  in  their  rutted  world.     I  had  admired 

The  knights  sincere 

In  olden  story  books,  but  long  ago. 

Turning  aside,  I  did  not  hear, 

And  so 

He,  too,  turned  on  his  way. 

"I  had  a  friend, 

"Ay,  such  a  friend,"  I  cried. 

Oh,  could  he  know  the  meaning  in  my  grief. 

Forgetting  all  that  he  had  told  and  done. 

Because  I  was  alone,  and  years  had  run 

Their  course?     Ay,  understanding  is  belief. 

39 


All  that  he  said 

Seemed  sweet,  and  pained,  and  even  long  ago. 

For  all  his  pain,  alone  I  paid, 

Andlo! 

His  lips  touched  mine  and  sighed. 


40 


PRAYER 

I  am  alone,  afraid,  and  weak  to  cry. 

Oh,  to  seek  and  build  a  great  ideal ! 
Only  to  have  for  whom  to  live  and  die, 

Love  that  is  real  I 

I  seek  a  soul,  O  God,  and  all  as  mine. 

A  fragile  vessel  from  thy  altar  send 
To  set  within  the  depths  of  my  heart-shrine, 

There  to  defend. 

This  is  a  wonder-temple,  wrought  by  thee. 
Yet  must  it  fall.     I  would  not  have  it  other. 

But  in  thy  name  may  I,  as  thou  for  me. 
Die  for  another. 


41 


REVERY  OF  WIND 

Soft- footed  as  a  stranger  brushing  past 
Stole  up  the  wind.     Its  singing  in  the  spars 
Seemed  opiate  as  I  watched  the  swaying  mast, 
Swinging  dark  arms  across  the  marching  stars. 

As  if  by  magic  of  an  unseen  hand, 
It  steeped  the  mortal  sense  in  harmony. 
Breaking  the  portals  of  the  mind,  it  fanned 
Deep  thoughts  to  dreams  with  its  dulled  symphony. 

Sweeping,  star-ridden,  from  the  trackless  skies. 
It  raised  the  wave  crests  till  each  caught  the  light 
Of  the  full-rounded  moon,  like  myriad  eyes 
That  glitter  round  a  phantom  ship  at  night. 

Oh,  out  beyond,  out  where  the  moonpath  lay, 
Far  through  the  dreamland  mist  I  fancied  thee. 
With  still,  sweet  lips  that  would,  yet  could  not  say 
Why  thou  didst  walk  alone  upon  the  sea. 


42 


IRONY 

Oh,  in  the  hour  of  dawn  I  sought  thcc, 
Enraptured,  in  my  arms  have  caught  thee ! 
I  have  dreamed  till  the  fading  skies 
Left  but  a  whisper  in  thine  eyes; 
Dreamed  of  thy  wonder,  too  sweet  to  have  told  me, 
Knowing  more  faithful  arms  might  hold  thee, 
Singing  these  selfsame  ecstasies. 

Dominant  with  desires, 
As  chords  of  our  forgotten  lyres, 
From  starlit  treasuries. 

Ah,  but  I  dreamt,  in  pride,  to  have  known  thee. 
Till,  in  thy  sacred  fear,  thou  hast  flown  me. 
I  once  dreamed  to  have  won  thy  love, 
Glorified  in  my  treasure  trove. 
But  winds  of  a  wonder-land  shall  kiss  thee. 
Beyond  my  ken.     Though  a  heart  shall  miss  thee, 
Dead  in  forgotten  revery, 
God's  is  a  greater  token. 
Twilight  dreams,  fore'er  unbroken, 
In  arms  of  Eternity. 


43 


WINTER 

Grey,  naked  limbs  of  old  trees  score  the  clouds, 
Across  the  pallid  marsh,  against  the  West. 
The  waning  hours  of  autumn  twilight  shrouds 
The  silent  mould,  forgotten  its  unrest. 

One  moment  flares  in  crimson  blazonry, 
As  would  the  failing  heart-beats  flush  the  stark 
Horizon's  face  with  hope.     And  quietly 
The  last  gleam  vanishes  before  the  dark. 

Once  we  were  blessed  with  Life's  sweet  passion  flower. 
Would  I  had  died  for  you,  dear,  but  the  fire 
Of  your  eyes  fled,  within  the  crowning  hour. 
E'er  you  had  gained  Life's  consummate  desire. 

Although  with  you  the  last  dear  light  was  cleft, 
I  never  pray  that  you  may  come  again. 
The  winter  shadows  fold  me  since  you  left, 
Bereft  of  dreams  the  heart  recalls  in  pain. 


44 


ADIEU! 

Farewell  to  thee ! 

A  mist  comes  o'er  mine  eyes. 

Somewhere  deep-caverned  rivers 

Are  running  to  a  sea 

Beneath  the  earth ; 

And  on  the  hearth 

The  cricket  chirps  and  cries. 

Farewell  to  thee ! 

Again — let  our  lips  meet, 

Before  the  soul  is  gone. 

I  hear  them  calling  me — 

Fall  comes  on  Spring. 

I  cannot  sing — 

Kiss  me  but  once,  my  sweet ! 

Now  I  must  go ! 

Why  do  they  call  to  me. 

Yon  host  of  cherubim^ 

The  heart  beats  weak  and  slow. 

Souls  drift  in  air — 

Art  thou  still  there  *? 

Ah,  love — farewell  to  thee ! 


45 


TO-MORROW 

Not  that  you  know  the  world  as  I, 
Outward  and  home  again ! 
I  ask  no  wonder  of  knowing  why- 
All  beauty  is  of  pain. 

For  I  have  met  on  God's  highway 
Magic  of  full-blown  flowers; 
Those  that  have  perfumed  night  and  day, 
Or  wept  with  April's  showers. 

Not  that  you  break  upon  my  dream, 
But  old  faith  bids  me  see. 
Beyond  the  child-wraith  that  you  seem. 
The  flower  that  is  to  be ! 


46 


SPRING  PRELUDE 

There's  sweetness  of  new  life  that  runs  before  the  rain, 
The  softly  breathing  freshness,  hallowed  of  dreams  to  be. 
Old  memories  lurk  as  ghosts,  and  prayers  in  the  trees,  and 

pain. 
The  sigh  of  broken  hearts,  like  wind  in  shells  by  the  sea. 


47 


GHOSTS 

Old  young  faces,  strange  with  pain : 
Souls  that  have  died,  untouched  by  longing 
Weary  feet  that  pass  in  the  rain : 
Around  the  closed  doors  thronging ! 

They  who  have  garnered  facts  in  life ; 
Measured  their  joys  in  gold-dust  even; 
Might  they  but  know  their  puppet  strife 
Transfigured  into  heaven ! 

Shadows  of  the  night  that  fled. 
Frightened  before  the  eyes  of  morning : 
Whence,  in  pity,  soft  gleam  of  red 
Flushes  the  cheeks  of  dawning ! 


48 


BELIEF 

If  on  the  morrow, 

When  liquored  Autumn  sets  her  chalice  rare 

And  the  alembic  of  the  gods  is  cold, 

One  glint  of  sunshine  creeps  aslant  your  hair, 

Then  shall  I  know  some  things  are  never  old. 

Then  if  it  be 

God  falls  Himself  in  sorrow 

Beyond  the  utter  sense  of  words  to  tell, 

I  shall  but  say,  "Ah,  well, 

'Tis  so  eternally!" 

If  as  today. 

When  clouds  dream  by  as  prayers  across  the  trees, 

Beyond  the  farthest  sands  there  steals  a  song 

From  the  high  haunt  of  sacred  reveries. 

Then  shall  I  know  how  right  dissevers  wrong. 

Then  may  I  see. 

Above  all  wealth's  decay. 

The  sentient  spirit  of  your  eyes'  gone  flame, 

Your  beauty  one,  the  same 

With  immortality ! 


49 


TE  HODIE  MEMINISSE! 

Far  in  a  kingdom  of  delight 
Beyond  the  silent  sleep  of  stars, 
The  silver  waves  of  fortune  break 
Across  the  coral-studded  bars, 

Within  whose  arms  there  dreams  a  pool 
Wrapt  breathless  in  its  azure  sleep. 
Forgetful  o'er  its  shadowed  face, 
The  inarticulate  hours  creep. 

One  hand  it  stretched  unto  the  sea 
Where  all  the  ships  of  men  went  by. 
And  from  the  hills  a  river  came 
To  bear  its  draught  of  mystery. 

Set  in  the  curve  of  the  golden  stream. 
As  a  sapphire  in  a  ring,  there  lay. 
Warmed  in  the  sun  of  a  tinted  heaven, 
The  city  glorified,  Yea  and  Nay. 

Far  away  beyond  the  ken 

Of  memories  today,  they  said 

Children  have  cast  their  stones  in  the  water. 

To  watch  the  golden  rings  that  spread. 

Then,  above  the  song  of  the  stream, 
The  distant  hum  of  folk  in  the  town. 
Busily  plying  their  myriad  errands. 
Darting  beneath  the  gables  that  frown 
SO 


Down  on  the  narrow  streets,  all  paved 
With  matrix  of  turquoise,  green  and  blue, 
Shimmering,  dark,  now  splendorous  in 
The  glare  of  a  sunset  peeping  through. 

Day  unto  day  they  slaved  in  love, 
Blind  in  their  sweet  comradery. 
Until  the  god  of  the  darkling  pool 
Awoke  from  the  coral  arms  of  the  sea. 

Out  of  the  depths  he  clasped  the  soul, 

And  a  dream  of  dreams  from  the  star  of  night. 

Then,  as  the  swift  song  of  desire. 

Entered  the  City  of  Delight. 

Hark!  does  the  footless  wind  come  down 
The  sleeping  streets  of  blue  and  green, 
As,  tremulous  in  dim  ecstasy. 
The  shadow  incarnate  comes  unseen  I 

Even  the  laughter  of  the  dawn 
Is  quiet  in  the  chant  of  birth. 
Only  the  saints  of  Yea  and  Nay 
Dream  of  such  mystery  on  earth ! 

Before  the  eternal  gates  of  faith 
The  dark  god  laid  the  star  of  dawn. 
And  in  the  quiver  of  his  breath 
Behold,  a  wonder  child  was  bom ! 

He  took  the  clay  of  saints  from  earth 

And  moulded  it  unto  his  heart. 

51 


So,  in  the  love  of  what  he  made, 
The  master  made  his  counterpart. 

He  caught  the  image  of  his  love 
Into  his  arms,  and  kissed  again 
The  petalled  lips  of  rose  he  formed. 
In  fire,  to  meet  the  lips  of  men. 

Then  to  the  child  of  life  he  sang 
As  whisper  of  far  distant  wind ! 
He  gave  unto  her  soul  his  last. 
The  trinity  of  humankind! 


"Thine  shall  be  Truth,  the  wisdom  of  Beyond, 
Beyond  the  lips  of  critics  to  confess. 
For  Truth  is  Love  and  Beauty,  far  too  fond 
For  other  than  man's  utter  holiness ! 

"Thy  passion  shall  dissect  this  carnival 
Of  easy  hate  and  worship  o'er  intense, 
Till  in  the  requiem  of  sin  shall  fall 
Thy  soul  upon  us  as  the  world's  incense. 

"And  men  shall  love  thy  beauty  as  a  flower. 
Thy  lips  shall  sing  of  wordless  mystery. 
The  sacred  silence  of  our  lone  grey  hour. 
When  twilight  soundless  fades  across  a  sea.    * 

"To  break  the  vain  persuasions  of  weak  threat. 
Courage  is  thine,  that  seeks  the  farthest  quest. 
52 


Thy  spirit  eyes,  thy  song  of  songs  shall  set 
A  thrall  on  fools,  the  pride  of  tongues  at  rest. 

"Thy  mind  shall  see,  through  littleness  of  pain, 
Full  many  a  man  has  met  his  Calvary. 
Laughter  of  sun  or  wistfulness  of  rain 
Thy  power  shall  meet  in  calm  humility. 

"The  Courage  of  lost  dreams  is  to  have  tried. 
To  laugh  upon  these  earthen  moulds  that  rot. 
To  scorn  our  strife,  though  many  friends  have  died. 
As  night-born  heroes  in  the  years  forgot. 

"Behold,  the  flame  of  Faith  is  given  thee. 
The  thirsting  torch  of  wonder  that  distils 
Through  the  rich  veil  of  old  eternity 
To  one  ecstatic  light  upon  our  wills. 

"The  passing  moment  is  not  what  it  seems. 
For  Faith  is  aye  the  sweet  of  evening  sun, 
In  myriad  raiment  on  the  hill  of  dreams. 
When  darkness  bids  believe  all  things  are  done. 

"Strange  cry  of  curlews  dismal  on  the  moors 
Is  but  the  ghost  of  weaker  mortal  tears. 
These  death-born  elements  against  our  doors. 
Mere  instant  spume  that  dies  upon  the  years. 

"So  down  the  incessant  wane  and  birth  of  years, 
While  men  still  mimic,  and  our  hands  shall  mar. 
Thy  soul  shall  steal,  half  nebulous  through  tears. 
Their  dominant  light,  our  still  unfading  Star!" 

September  19th. 
53 


SONNETS 


CLAY 

I  dreamed  You  said,  O  God,  this  world  was  Yours. 
Why  then  these  shop- worn  faces,  white  and  sad? 
And  in  Your  name,  we  preach  our  mortal  cures. 
These  claim  poets  atavists,  and  all  saints  mad. 
What  is  this  mould  but  cells  to  form  our  limbs? 
And  women  bear  our  fair,  immaculate  sons 
To  guide  as  puppets  of  their  own  dear  whims, 
To  mark  their  growth  with  false  comparisons. 
Young  thought  is  commandeered  until  the  soul 
Sinks  numb  in  disrespect,  to  cry  "Forbear!" 
And  every  one  fades  blindly  with  the  whole. 
Lays  him  to  rest,  unnoted  in  Your  quair. 
Trembling  in  the  last  gleam,  elders  lie 
Or  pay  to  hide  life's  hand-wrought  parody. 


57 


INSPIRATION 

If  there  be  Heaven,  it  must  be  here  and  now, 

Sea,  wind,  and  rain,  and  every  pain  He  spent 

To  ease  our  poor  distress,  and  to  endow 

This  worthless  mould  with  quickened  sacrament. 

When  we  awaken  to  that  power  of  mind 

Which  sets  us  glorious  victors  of  duress ; 

When  fragile  beauty  in  high  humankind 

Is  thirsted  for  by  braggart  manliness ; 

Our  Heaven  shall  be  the  gleam  high  faith  sustains 

As  the  invincible  lights  of  sun  and  star, 

When  storms  die  down  and  utter  peace  remains, 

And  only  pride  or  prejudice  can  mar. 

White  Christ  of  yesteryear,  to  whom  we  pray, 

We  halt  the  crucifixion  of  to-day ! 


58 


BEAUTY 


The  feet  of  centuries,  like  drops  of  rain, 

Throng  against  the  doors  of  the  beyond. 

A  sea  of  heroic  faces,  scarred  with  pain 

Of  outworn  creed  and  fragile  dream  too  fond, 

Search  the  remotest  darkness  with  wet  eyes. 

Half  light  in  embers  of  yet  unquenched  faiths. 

Some  day  the  song  of  greater  harmonies 

Must  reach  our  ears,  when  we  are  but  the  wraiths 

Of  what  we  are  with  mortal  sense  unused 

To  the  One  Beauty.    Then,  our  lips  unsealed. 

Shall  say  the  unutterable  prayer,  long  years  refused ; 

Then,  to  our  blinded  souls  shall  stand  revealed. 

When  twilight  dims,  and  dreams  like  fires  die, 

The  lone  Madonna  of  all  Mystery ! 


59 


II 


Mayhap,  great  Shepherdess,  thou  shalt  descend 

Into  the  shadow  of  our  fretted  vale. 

As  a  new  rainbow  at  the  grey  day's  end 

Lightens  the  sea,  colours  an  old  ship's  sail. 

And  man  will  feel  his  brain  a  quickened  mould, 

Sentient  with  all  the  second  mind  distils 

Of  beauty  incarnate,  wonders  manifold, 

That  sorrow  and  laughter,  gladness  or  pain  fulfils. 

Then  our  disbodied  voices  may  recall 

This  little  planet :    "It  was  not  so  bad. 

Yon  masterpiece  of  His,  when,  all  in  all. 

Men  lived  in  song,  and  conquest  was  made  glad : 

And  far  by  flowered  meadows  where  He  sowed. 

Saints  thronged  the  little  hamlet  by  the  road." 


60 


LOVE 


Master,  we  seek  the  strength  of  thy  great  hand ! 

Only  may  we  be  powerful  to  prove 

Ourselves,  to  break  the  bars  of  Hell,  and  stand 

Requited  on  the  threshold  of  clear  Love. 

Thou  art  the  wine  illimited  of  measure; 

Master  of  our  Madonna's  frailty; 

Joy  in  Beauty  beyond  the  sense  of  pleasure; 

The  nebulous  star  of  poignant  ecstasy 

In  things  made  sacred  by  small  circumstance. 

And  things  unsanctified  breathe  purer  fire. 

Our  deeper  hearts  refuse  the  petty  chance, 

And  humbly  set  denial  on  desire. 

Let  us  be  tried  until  the  quickened  dream 

Fulfil  the  truth  one  love  alone  must  seem  I 


6i 


II 


We  poor  appointed  saints  of  Kingdom  Come, 
Are  we  inheritors  of  this  quick  power, 
Master  of  Worship,  all  that  issues  from 
The  heart's  full  fount  to  crown  this  passing  hour ! 
I  found  you  sleeping  in  a  child's  wide  eyes: 
You  are  the  wind  across  the  evening  light : 
You  are  the  dream  of  unwrought  mysteries, 
The  prayer  of  dawn  unconscious  in  the  night. 
I  once  saw  light  upon  a  woman's  face, 
Like  some  dim,  sacred  thought  returned  fulfilled. 
Till,  shadow-graven,  pain  crept  in  its  place. 
And  even  the  laughter  of  the  stars  was  stilled. 
As  lightning  rives  the  face  of  heaven,  so  rain 
Is  but  the  tears,  still-born  of  Beauty's  pain. 


62 


FAITH 

Out  of  the  dark,  One  Beauty  manifest ! 
Ah,  sophists  still  revise  our  golden  rules. 
And  mock-crusaders  teem  their  petty  quest, 
As  God  smiles  on  the  wisdom  of  his  fools. 
Unmastered  in  quick  hope,  belied  we  stand 
Apostates  to  the  truth  of  what  is  ours. 
Some  sabbath  Puritan  must  stay  the  hand 
That  moulds  the  very  wonder  of  God's  flowers. 
Out  of  the  dark,  some  chosen  eyes  shall  face 
One  Beauty  manifest,  one  perfect  Light, 
Beyond  the  human  bound  of  time  or  space, 
That  chars  the  temporal  nerve  of  common  sight ; 
When  the  invisible  scars  of  hearts  are  healed, 
And  the  last  Grail,  unbodied,  lies  revealed ! 


63 


JOY 

Call  of  the  gay  earth's  end,  where  pure  dreams  run 

A-whisper  with  wild  joy  of  field  and  fen ! 

Broken,  the  old  shrine-gates  that  smoulder,  dun 

Against  the  greyling  heaven  of  little  men. 

This,  then,  is  consciousness  of  clearing  ringed  passion, 

Freedom  of  heart  and  mind,  as  some  glad  boy. 

Let  menials  of  conscience  seek  to  fashion 

Nor  scope,  nor  content  of  immaculate  Joy ! 

This  is  the  sense  which  all  glad  things  resolves 

Unto  a  silver  cloud,  and  towers  up 

Into  the  dawn,  till  every  self  dissolves, 

A  spirit  bubble  in  the  sapphire  cup. 

It  is  the  wine  diffused  of  morning  skies. 

The  light  of  dreams  in  dim,  grief-shadowed  eyes. 


64 


TEARS 

Master,  I  knew  Thee,  and  Madonna,  too, 
Yet  sweet  intoxication  breeds  a  ghost 
Of  constant  Love  and  Beauty,  reasoned  true ! 
Strange  earthly  queries  gather  in  a  host 
About  this  grave  gowned  Sorrow,  and  tears  start 
To  mar  our  Beauty's  face.     It  is  the  sway, 
The  moving  soul  up  through  the  lichened  heart, 
As  a  blind  seed  strives  slowly  up  toward  day. 
Always  the  pain  where  best  endeavours  fail 
To  still  time's  haunting  transitoriness ! 
Ever  black  shadows  fall  across  the  Grail. 
We,  children,  weep  till  waste  and  weariness 
Quiet  our  limbs ;  then  fresh  hope  bids  us  see 
Calm  Olivet  beyond  our  Calvary ! 


65 


REVELATION 

Ah,  little  world,  wheel  on  beyond  my  ken  I 
Here  sensual  art  moulds  but  idolatry. 
And  opiate  saints  breed  lunacy  in  men, 
Where  blissful  ignorance  kneels  to  prophecy. 
We  men  and  works  are  but  the  dust  of  stars, 
Voiceless  in  body,  articulate  in  soul. 
No  more  I  thirst,  where  contradiction  mars, 
I  that  am  god,  the  fraction  and  the  whole ! 
Our  veriest  tongues  shed  only  broken  light 
Over  eternal  depths  wherein  we  slave, 
Till  the  unspoken  shaft  gleams  down  the  night. 
Makes  naught  of  grief,  and  mockery  of  the  grave. 
Poor  sin  and  shame  crumble  in  wisdom's  scorn. 
We  ride  to  fall — ^yet  mount  again,  reborn ! 


66 


BY  THE  SEA 


THE  LAST  CHANTEY 

Breath  o'  the  sea  and  laughter  would  renew 
The  eager  music  of  the  heart's  lost  tune, 
All  the  world-wonder  that  found  form  in  you ; 
As  every  star  distils  in  phosphorus 

Along  the  ribboned  highway  of  the  moon. 

Sorrow  revives  the  dim  enchantment  rare 
Like  an  old  song,  the  trade-wind's  littany. 
The  grey  hut  on  the  wild  hill  still  is  there, 
A  crumbling  acrolith  of  prayers  foregone. 
The  tide-rip  sets  to  slumber  in  the  sea. 

The  beauty  of  all  being  lingers  near ; 
With  the  old  land's  wrapt  mystery  it  is  one; 
Seeming  belies  the  fact  you  are  not  here. 
You  are  a  part  of  wind,  and  rain,  and  sky, 
The  shadow  of  wings  against  the  flare  of  sun ! 

One  cannot  hope  that  you  should  understand 
The  memory  of  all  awakened  here. 
I  search  the  purple  depth  of  shadow-land 
For  some  fulfilment  of  our  dream  forgot, 
And  every  bitter-sweet  of  yesteryear. 

Yet  you  are  with  me.     And  we  watch  the  dawn 
Beyond  the  petty  kingdoms  of  desire. 
Above  the  druid  rocks,  the  mist- winds  mourn 

As  ghost  of  living  dream  whose  soul  is  spent. 

The  desolate  cliffs  are  but  a  corpse  outleant. 
The  tomb  of  miracles,  a  wind-swept  choir ! 
69 


L'IMPORTUNE 

Down  on  the  wings  of  morning 
That  scatter  the  frightened  stars, 
Out  of  the  Vast  you  drifted 
To  break  the  linked  bars 

That  bound  the  temple  of  darkness, 
Entering  from  the  light 
To  spread  your  radiant  glory 
Over  the  floors  of  night. 

Onto  the  dying  embers 
Of  Youth,  calm  and  alone, 
The  lambent  gold  of  the  dawning 
Fell  where  your  deep  eyes  shone. 

Unflinching  didst  thou  enter, 
Softly  knelt  at  the  shrine. 
Laying  your  gift  before  it 
To  know  all  that  was  mine. 

All  in  your  reverent  beauty, 
Your  hand  touched  soft  the  rood. 
With  faith  your  sweet  words  drew 
The  pain  from  solitude. 

Deep  in  the  valley  of  shadow 
We  met  in  the  light  of  love. 
You  with  a  dream  of  the  morrow 
Sweet  from  the  hills  above. 
70 


You  woke  from  a  sleep  of  living, 
Singing  your  rhythmic  part, 
To  garner  the  wealth  of  morning 
Into  a  thirsting  heart. 

The  winds  swept  cool  on  the  hill-crest; 
We  parted  above  the  sea, 
Where  tidings  of  new  kingdoms 
Whispered  from  Arcady. 

But  you  have  left  me  a  song 
In  the  face  of  the  world  to  cry. 
Songs  that  a  God  had  taught  you, 
For  years  to  magnify. 


n 


A  PORTRAIT 

High  in  a  darkened  niche  of  dust  and  gloom 
Rests  a  fair  portrait,  silent,  without  name, 
Within  its  gilded  walls.     The  curtained  room 
Forbids  the  ray  of  over-daring  light 
That  seeks  to  touch,  receding  at  the  sight. 
The  gloried  precincts  of  the  olden  frame. 

And  youth  speaks  there,  deep-flowing. 
The  thrill  of  song  and  dance. 
Yet  sympathy  and  pathos. 
The  sacred,  still  romance 
Of  by-gone  days  in  pleasure 
Of  meeting  the  world  anew. 
To  touch  the  hearts  of  burden 
With  song  the  whole  world  through. 

Was  such  an  image  done  by  human  hand 
To  conjure  life  in  the  illumined  face? 
Those  spirit  eyes  that  search  and  understand 
Our  sternest  depths,  as  youth  and  ecstasy 
Blend  in  the  rapture  of  infinity; 
O,  power  of  youth  that  heaven  alone  may  trace ! 

The  room  is  worn  and  sleeping 
For  aye,  so  dark  and  cold. 
Far  away  lips  are  speaking 
Softly  and  strange — ah,  hold 
The  taper.     We  linger  in  darkness, 
A  shade-wrapt  figure  above. 
'Tis  life,  albeit  those  eyes 
Are  blind  to  the  world  they  move. 
72 


Th'  empurpled  robe,  in  deepening  shadow  spent, 
Is  lightened  as  the  slender,  white  hands  rest, 
Clasped  in  the  azure  of  the  Orient. 
She,  sweet  creation  of  the  fairy  dance, 
Sings  on  alone,  all  in  the  gloried  trance 
A  touch  of  wild  divinity  expressed. 

Soft  comes  the  power  of  silence 
In  dreams  of  a  treasure  trove, 
The  breath  of  new-born  kingdoms. 
Oh,  eyes  of  the  blind  that  move 
The  pulse  of  a  teeming  million 
To  slave  in  their  God's  great  plot 
Of  love — as  the  darkling  heroes 
Who  died  in  the  worlds  forgot! 


73 


SONG 

I  saw  a  wisp  of  fairy  cloud 

Sailing  in  the  morning  sky, 
When  skylarks  cry  their  song  aloud 

To  wake  the  dawn  from  revery. 

The  winds  of  morning,  ever  sweet 
With  freedom,  and  the  elfin's  bell 

Were  joyful  notes.     While,  at  my  feet, 
Wild  children  came  with  dreams  to  sell. 

I  dreamed  that  thou  wert  hiding  there, 
A  smile  upon  thy  lips  anew. 

Laughing  beyond  the  cloud-wisp,  where 
Thy  happiness  was  lost  to  view. 

And  yet  the  very  cloud  was  thee, 
Drifting  across  the  azure  years. 

Over  the  purling  of  the  sea. 

To  fill  God's  chalices  with  tears. 


74 


THE  HEART  OF  A  MANSION 

I  watched  from  the  barren  rocks  that  frown, 

As  sentinels  of  the  night,  far  down 

To  a  twilight  sea,  so  softly  breathing,  breathing  deep,  aye, 

fathoms  deep. 
I  saw  the  circling  sea-gull's  wing 
Black  in  the  mist.     The  waters  sing 
Still  of  the  ancient  viking,  crooning,  spinning  the  web  of  a 

wind-blown  sleep. 

Over  the  star-dust  of  the  sea 
That  chants  to  the  winds  eternally. 
Far  on  a  distant  headland  bleak,  a  mansion  of  Italia  lay; 
Indefinable  in  its  glory, 
Memoried  with  each  wondrous  story 

From  the  peoples  of  the  North,  to  Ind,  where  broken  fakirs 
pray. 

Bronze  from  the  pagan  altars  taken, 

Leaves  from  illumined  volumes  shaken 

On  to  the  path  of  ages,  and  gathered,  blind  as  the  dreaming 

builder  went ; 
Out  of  the  grey  monastic  store. 
Fragments  of  forgotten  lore 
Told  of  the  hours  in  search  and  wander  over  the  land  of 

dead  creeds  spent. 

Embers  of  old  fires  dying. 
Yet  in  their  midst  a  heart  is  crying 

Out  against  the  brazen  symbols,  dead  as  the  Hindu's  image- 
sod. 

75 


Sudden,  a  light  peers  through  the  gloom, 
Trembling,  soft,  from  room  to  room. 

I  see  a  wonder-woman  passing,  beauty  formed  in  the  hand 
of  God. 

Pure  as  the  dim  cathedral  haze. 

White  vision  of  our  latter  days. 

Over  the  faithless  bits  of  mimic,  warmth  of  a  living  soul 

she  spreads. 
Her  clouded  hair,  like  thunder  skies. 
Shadows  the  clear,  unfathomed  eyes. 
Sweet  and  still,  she  sings  the  tale  of  a  thousand  hearts  of 

the  world  she  reads. 

Her  eyes  watch  wondrous  as  a  child. 

In  emerald  light,  as  gipsy-wild 

She  walks  in  loneliness,  her  cheeks  by  petal  of  the  wild-rose 

flushed. 
All  winds  cease  their  minstrelsy 
To  wonder  at  her  melody. 
As  when  a  Trojan  maiden  passed  the  siren  tongues  of  old 

were  hushed. 

Then,  in  the  glamour  of  a  dream. 

Treasured  walls  and  niches  seem 

Broken  in  the  hand  of  time,  back  to  the  dust  of  ages  turn- 
ing. 

Winds  of  heaven,  that  Titans  hurl 

Where  caverned  waters  foam  and  curl. 

Touch  not  the  flame  above  the  ruin,  holy  shaft  on  the  altar 
burning. 

*  *  5|C 

76 


Out  of  the  night  a  pebble  fell 
Down  from  the  cliff  to  break  the  spell. 
Still  upon  the  beaten  shore  a  mansion  of  dead  riches  lay. 
All  bereft  by  a  northern  sea 
That  croons  in  a  woman's  melody, 

Breathing  soft  to  a  trade-wind's  murmur,  a  million  million 
years  away. 


17 


ECHOES 

Grey  day^n  and  the  rain,  alone ! 
And  alone  she  came  in  the  rain. 
It  is  only  the  wide  sea's  overtone 
Echoes  her  voice  again ! 

New  dawn  and  the  light  of  her  eyes, 
The  sweet,  faint  trace  of  pain ! 
Her  lips  were  stilled  in  the  mysteries; 
The  dim  sea  slept  in  rain. 

Dusk,  where  the  house  yet  stands 
Above  the  old  sea's  refrain ! 
Sea-wrack  where  steps  came  over  the  sands, 
As  none  may  come  again ! 


78 


MISERERE 

Shadows  flit  in  the  woodland, 
Deep  where  the  pinelands  croon 

Their  vespers  to  the  night  winds, 
Still  to  the  errant  moon. 

Wild  sunsets  sweep  the  valley, 
Tinging  the  crimson  leaves, 

Till  night  creeps  soft  on  the  meadows, 
Veiling  the  banded  sheaves. 

Ah,  dear  as  the  dawn  was  our  coming. 

Sweet  were  thy  words  at  noon. 
Bringing  new  deeds  of  glory. 

Spent  in  thy  world.     Too  soon 

The  rainbow  sank  from  our  vision, 
And  the  dusk  crept  over  thee. 

Together,  in  faith,  we  followed 
A  moon-path  over  the  sea. 

The  hope  of  a  darkling  morrow 

Sweeps  as  a  flitting  ray 
Upon  us.     The  bitter  present 

Sings  of  our  yesterday. 

Ah,  bitterness  of  the  passing 

Is  power  to  dream  anew, 
Faith  in  the  marching  millions. 

Till  Eden's  tale  fall  true. 
79 


The  centuries  melt  to  moments 
In  the  chant  of  the  deodars. 

What  hope,  but  a  jewelled  bubble 
Wind-driven  to  the  stars!  « 

Stand  not  for  the  unforgiving 

Swift  years.     Dear  soul,  drink  deep 

Of  love,  as  the  weaving  mid-seas 
Lull  to  an  infinite  sleep. 

Life  is  but  built  in  the  dreaming, 
Is  come,  too  sweet,  and  past 

To  dusk.    In  the  dear  communion 
Each  chalice  is  the  last. 


80 


THE  MOON-CALF 

It  may  have  been  a  bit  of  paradise 

That  flitted  on  your  childish  face  forlorn. 

Poor,  sorry  lad,  I  watch  those  foolish  eyes 
To  catch  them  waking  from  the  sleep  of  dawn. 

What  dreams  have  drawn  you  to  the  evening  shore*? 

Ah,  wonder-lad,  could  we  but  have  your  faith 
To  reach  the  gardens  of  forgotten  lore, 

To  build  our  creeds  from  some  moon-woven  wraith ! 

You  walk  the  weed-bound  rocks  with  surer  feet 
Than  ours,  who  follow  in  the  paths  of  power. 

Mayhap  you  are  the  stronger  who  can  meet 
The  faith  of  friendship  in  the  magic  hour. 

Although,  in  faith,  you  gain  a  mummer's  wreath; 

The  old  world  laughs — on  to  infinity, 
Your  soul  drifts,  smiling  on  the  road  beneath 

The  stars  that  tinkle  on  a  drowsy  sea. 

Once  we  stood  by  the  border,  little  lad. 
Of  spirit  wonder  in  the  winds  of  night. 

And  our  life's  undertone  seemed  halfway  sad, 
You  stood  so  bravely  on  the  bar  of  light. 

Our  lips  blaspheme  your  foolish  song  divine. 

Lone  player  in  dreams,  albeit,  when  you  trod. 
With  shadow  eyes,  upon  the  amber  line 
Of  ocean  light — ^mayhap  you  sang  of  God ! 

8i 


TWILIGHT 

Thou  art  gone, 

And  I  alone. 

Love  is  sinking  in  the  mist 

That  crowns  the  headland  in  the  sunset. 

Veiling  dim  the  crimson  sunset, 

When  winds  whisper  as  they  list. 

Thou  art  gone. 

And  I — alone ! 

Love  is  done, 
And  I  alone. 

Still  thy  song  comes  bitter-sweet 
With  the  tinted  fires  of  sunset. 
Through  the  sorrow-veil  at  sunset, 
Where  the  lights  and  shadows  meet. 
Love  is  done, 
And  I — alone ! 

Love  was  done 

When  thou  wert  gone. 

When  a  Voice  called  in  the  twilight. 

Yet,  I  watch  dark  birds  at  sunset, 

Broken  acroliths  of  sunset. 

For  thy  God  called  in  the  twilight, 

"Love  is  done." 

So  thou  art  gone ! 


DAY'S  END 


The  world  seems  afar  off  now.      '" '  - 
It's  cool  and  clean  on  this  ledge. 
Dead  leaves  lisp  on  the  bough, 
The  fingering  wind  through  the  hedge. 

The  sea,  with  its  ebb  and  flow. 
Sings  drowsily  unto  me,  curled 
In  the  grass.     Sails  pass  and  go 
Over  the  edge  of  the  world. 

Twilight  creeps  wearily,  tires 
The  heart  of  its  craving  the  dawn, 
In  watching  the  studded  fires. 
When  the  curtain  of  saints  is  drawn. 

What  say  you^     I  may  be  mad? 
But  the  soul  of  God  is  the  sea ! 
And,  however  the  song  be  sad, 
It's  tuned  to  the  heart  of  me ! 

There's  star  dust  in  my  eyes. 
See,  your  lips  thirst  for  her  smile, 
And — it's  getting  cold  'neath  the  skies ! 
I  guess  I  was  sleeping  the  while ! 


THE  END 


83 


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